


we were distant stars, lost in the dark

by arbybra



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Forbidden Love, Grounder Bellamy Blake, Grounder Culture, Hurt/Comfort, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28534821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbybra/pseuds/arbybra
Summary: When she finds an injured Grounder left for dead in the woods, Clarke knows it's probably a very bad idea to try and save him -- after all, their people are on the precicipe of full-blown war with each other and hiding an enemy is the last thing she needs right now. But she goes ahead and saves him anyway.Or the one where Clarke nurses Grounder!Bellamy back to health and they form a surprising bond along the way.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 72
Kudos: 311





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this is an idea I've been toying with for over a year now and the juices finally started flowing recently. The result is this. I'm hoping this story will have about four parts going by what I have planned out so far. I really hope you guys like it.
> 
> As far my other WIP, I'd like to say to any readers that it isn't abandoned and that I will try to update soon, but the writer's block has really hit me hard in regards to that fic.
> 
> I've been away from the Bellarke fandom for a while because the last season really messed me up a lot more than I'd expected it too. I started watching back when season 1 was originally airing and I've shipped Bellarke ever since, so I was admittedly quite heartbroken by how things turned out. It's only now that I'm finding myself able to get back into reading/writing fanfiction about the show.
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you guys like this! Please let me know what you think in the comments. Also this isn't beta'd so I take complete responsibility for any mistakes you might pick up on. 
> 
> Arby x

Pain tore through his chest. The reactionary noise that came from his throat sounded disturbingly primal, like that of an animal getting taken down during a hunt. His body hit the ground hard before he could begin to register what the hell had even happened.

It was supposed to be a routine scouting trip, checking over the boundaries of their clan's territory just like every other morning at sunrise. But then a group of Azgeda warriors had crossed paths with them down by the curve of the riverbank and some unpleasant words had been exchanged between their two parties. The Azgeda warriors were on Trikru land without permission, and the clash that followed next needed no further explanation. Violent chaos erupted within seconds. It was just bad luck, really, that Bellamy had been one of the poor fools to get injured in the sudden fray.

Badly injured, too, if the dark, warm blood coming away on his hands was anything to go by. 

With a real effort he was able to roll onto his side slightly, giving himself a better angle to view the damage. Fuck, there was a startling amount of blood. And a jagged, broken-off spearhead jutting out from his chest, too, which was definitely not a good thing either. Octavia was really going to give him an earful this time.

Bellamy was only vaguely aware that the fighting around him was starting to slowly but surely dissipate. Voices and harsh noises thrummed around him, but he couldn't focus on any of it. He didn't know what had happened to the rest of his group. Even his vision was starting to blur worryingly, and no matter how much he tried to will his senses back into working order it was like his body just wouldn't cooperate. 

No sound came from his throat when he tried to call out for Penn, Artigas, _somebody_. He needed somebody to help him, damn it. 

He felt cold and hot all at the same time, clammy but chilled right down to his bones. The sunlight coming down through the treetops was too bright, painfully bright, but the rest of the world around him was only turning darker and darker by the second. 

And strangest of all, his wound didn't even hurt all that much anymore. 

The last thing he could remember thinking of was Octavia, waiting for him back at their village. 

He'd promised to bring his little sister back some new rocks of chalk for a project she was apparently working on. They were supposed to go fishing down by the lake in the afternoon, if the weather stayed good. He hadn't spent enough time with her since he returned from Polis last week. Maybe now he'd never get the chance. 

And then, all at once, a heavy shroud of numbness and darkness suddenly overcame him, his body left slumped in a bloody heap on the forest floor. 

* * *

Something yellow. 

Then, something blue. 

His head was pounding, his eyes dry as they adjusted to the dim environment around him. Those two colours were the only things he could really acknowledge at first as he groggily came to. 

Yellow hair, long and unkempt. A shadowed but distinctly female face. Clear blue eyes staring straight back at him.

He didn't know this girl. 

Bellamy realised then that he was either really, truly dead or perhaps in a lot more trouble than the throbbing in his head was letting him properly comprehend. 

“Don't panic. I swear I won't hurt you.”

_English_. 

The strange girl was speaking to him in English, which could only mean one thing -- she was _Skaikru_. 

He jerked upright, his hand flinging outwards automatically in search of a weapon, but he stopped abruptly as sharp, hot pain seared through his chest. A roar of agony slipped from between his gritted teeth. 

“Shit, I told you not to pan--”

His fingers clasped around the girl's wrist, wrenching her towards him. To her credit, she didn't so much as flinch. Bellamy met her gaze with narrowed eyes. “Where am I?”

The girl glared at him as she spoke. “Somewhere safe. A bunker, from the old world.” She tried unsuccessfully to pull her wrist away as she continued to tell him, “Trust me when I say that I wouldn't have dragged you half a mile through the freaking forest by myself just to kill you down here now that you're finally conscious! I'm trying to save your damn life.”

Bellamy considered her for a moment. It was proving really hard to think straight when his whole body hurt like holy hell. The girl had a point though -- why bring him all the way here just to kill him? 

“Why didn't you just leave me to die?”

“Because I knew I could save you,” she answered shortly, gesturing at his torso. 

Bellamy glanced down. His furs and clothing had been disposed of, replaced by clean strips of bandage and gauze wrapped carefully around his chest. He could vaguely smell something potent and unmistakably medicinal, too. 

“Now, will you please let go of me before I regret ever helping you in the first place?” 

The girl yanked her wrist back again and this time he let her go. He really didn't have the energy to put up much more of a fight, anyway. She continued to glare at him regardless. 

Bellamy watched suspiciously as she turned and sprang to her feet, moving away from him towards another part of the bunker. He took the chance to quickly glance around at their surroundings. 

The room was pretty dark, lit only by a couple of haphazardly placed candles and what appeared to be some sort of electrical light source balanced on slanted metal stool. His people didn't have that kind of technology anymore, not widespread at least. The girl was standing at what he could only assume was a desk, seemingly looking for something amongst the clutter atop it, and across the room from her storage shelves lined the walls and an old, threadbare chair was pushed to one corner. 

In the other corner he saw what looked like a doorway, which he could only guess was the entry and exit for this place. He needed to remember that. 

Looking down, he saw now that he was laying on an assortment of blankets and pelts. To his right there was another strange electrical device, noisier than the other and exuding waves of heat instead of light. Bellamy really couldn't wrap his head around why this Skaikru girl was helping him. 

The first of them had come down from space about six months ago, and then more had followed in their hulking metal vessels. Thousands, if his clan's reconnaissance were correct. In the turn of just one season, Skaikru and their guns had evolved from a harmless children's folktale to a force to be reckoned with, a dangerous and real threat to his people and their way of life. Skaikru are their enemies -- this girl is supposed to be his enemy. 

“What are you doing?” 

The girl ignored his question, finishing up with whatever it was she was doing instead. She strode back over to him, a cup of indiscernible liquid in hand. This time she knelt down a little further away, not quite so easily within his reach. She held the cup out to him cautiously. 

“Drink this. It's for the pain.”

“What is it?”

“It's medicine, the kind my people use.”

Bellamy frowned at the cup. He noticed then that, despite her carefully schooled demeanour, the girl's small hands were actually badly trembling. He glanced at her face again. She couldn't have been much older than his sister.

“What's your name?”

Her lips pressed together, obviously hesitating. “It's Clarke,” she told him quietly. “Now stop asking questions and just drink the damn medicine, will you? It will help.”

Albeit reluctantly, he did as he was told. The medicine tasted stale and awful, but he drank it down anyway. Even if she was lying and it was poison, it would still be a better alternative than the agony from his wound. 

Clarke was watching him closely, almost curiously, like he was some kind of exotic animal she'd never seen up close before.

Bellamy looked back at her, taking her in with equal measure. Her face was all soft edges, framed by golden blonde hair that looked like it had come loose from a braid, but her blue eyes were sharp and striking as they stared back at him. 

Under different circumstances, he would've considered her to be quite beautiful. 

“Ai laik Bellamy kom Trikru.”

His eyelids felt quite heavy now. He wasn't even sure if she'd heard him before he felt his body fall back onto the blankets, sleep tugging at his mind. 

* * *

Her head was swimming by the time Clarke got back to Arkadia that night, later than she'd intended if the height of the crescent moon in the sky was anything to go by. She slipped through Raven's gate seamlessly, careful to keep her footfalls as quiet as possible as she weaved her way through the sleeping camp. She'd felt nervous about leaving Bellamy all alone, but she knew that if she was gone for too long then someone would notice and alert her mother. 

She had so many questions. 

Saving a Grounder and taking him back to her secret bunker wasn't something she'd deliberately planned. In fact, it was one of the most reckless things she'd probably done in her entire life. If her people found out, they'd surely kill him -- maybe worse. But if she'd left him to bleed out on the forest floor then he would've been a goner for certain. 

But Clarke had seen far too much death since they'd landed on the ground less than a year ago.

When she had found Bellamy in a clearing by the riverbank, she'd been searching for some kind of red seaweed that she'd heard was gathered for its medicinal properties. Then she'd seen him, just left lying there underneath the late morning sunshine. The idea of doing nothing to help him had made her feel physically sick. If she'd just walked on and left him there to die, she would've felt responsible somehow -- and Clarke couldn't bear to be responsible for yet another meaningless death. So she'd saved him instead. 

She wanted to know how he'd been injured in the first place. She wanted to know if he knew where the red seaweed grew, if he knew about other plants that could be used for food or treatments. She wanted to know more about the strange language he spoke in when he had told her his name, what it was like growing up on Earth, how he got the scar above his upper lip. There was so much she wanted to learn about him. 

“You're out and about late,” came a familiar voice from behind her. Clarke whirled round, brows raised in surprise as Wells stepped out of the shadowed alleyway. “Can't sleep either?”

“I thought some fresh air might help,” she replied, offering him a sheepish smile. 

“Some fresh air… As in the fresh air outside of the camp?”

“What are you talking about?”

Wells gave her a pointed look, stepping closer. Clarke could have sworn she'd gotten back in unnoticed, but apparently not. She cursed under her breath.

“I saw you come back from the woods. It's way past curfew.”

Clarke shrugs nonchalantly. “I was just stretching my leg. It's not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? It's dangerous out there, Clarke! You could die out there!” Clarke swallowed thickly. “Going past the fence alone and at night is just asking to get yourself killed by the Grounders. What the hell were you doing?”

“I told you already, I was--”

“Please don't lie to me, Clarke.”

She let out a sigh. It was hard with Wells -- he was her best friend and she honestly didn't want to lie to him, but she wasn't sure whether she could trust him with this. There was no way of telling how he'd react to her secret, whether or not he'd go running straight to the guards and tell everyone what she was hiding in the bunker -- _who_ she was hiding. 

For months she had thought that Wells betrayed her and was the reason behind her father getting arrested and ultimately killed, but it had turned out that he was only protecting her from an even more horrible truth. 

She reached round for her backpack, opening it to show him the contents. “Look, I was just gathering mushrooms. You can only find them at night when they're glowing and I knew my mother would never approve of a nighttime expedition to gather them. I admit I lost track of time, but I'm back now and I'm okay.”

“Clarke--”

“I'm fine, Wells. Don't worry so much,” Clarke told him, rolling her eyes. It wasn't a complete lie -- she really had stopped to gather the mushrooms on her way back -- but she still felt guilty about omitting the whole truth from him.

Wells let out a sigh, relenting. He clapped her affectionately on the shoulder and nodded towards the entrance of Alpha Station. 

“Come on. We should get back to our rooms before anyone realises we're out here.”

“Yeah, let's go,” Clarke agreed. 

As they walked the short distance back to their respective quarters, Clarke let Wells take the lead and hung back a little, her feet dragging with nervousness. 

She didn't want him to pry anymore. Tonight had been a close call. If she was going to keep this secret an actual secret, she'd need to be more careful in future.

* * *

The next day Clarke intended to be back at the bunker by mid-morning at the latest. She'd barely slept all night, too worried about Bellamy’s wound and the precarious situation she'd found herself in. 

She couldn't help wondering if he'd even be there when she got back. Even though he'd been long since passed out by the time she left last night, it didn't mean he couldn't have woken up and found the bunker door. It wouldn't surprise her at all if he'd decided to try and make a break for it as soon as she'd left. 

Despite her anxiety over hiding a Grounder in the first place, Clarke really hoped he would still be there.

But just as she was about to leave chaos erupted by the front gates. 

The dawn hunters had returned -- and they were in a bad way. She heard from snippets as she helped prep the operating theatre that one of the younger boys had killed a bear cub and that the enraged mother had gone after him. Clarke and Jackson spent two hours trying to stitch the stupid boy back together before he finally passed away on the makeshift operating table. No matter how many times she scrubbed her hands afterwards she was sure they were still stained red with his blood. 

After that she helped with the two of the hunters, who were battered and bruised but would thankfully live. Once they were taken care of she had to step outside for a few minutes, just to pull herself together again. It gets harder each time someone dies under her care, no matter how hard she tries to change the outcome.

By the time she finally managed to sneak away from camp it was well past midday, the heat of the sun pulsing down on her as she weaved her way hurriedly through the woods. Clarke knew the path to the bunker by memory now, just like she’d come to know much of the woods surrounding Arkadia. The hidden door to the bunker eventually came into sight and she all but threw herself down the steps of the rusty metal stairwell. 

The first thing she does is look for Bellamy and she’s relieved to find that he’s still there, nestled comfortably on his bed of furs. She can immediately feel his dark eyes on her from across the room. He looks a little relieved to see her, too. 

“I brought you some food,” she announces, setting her backpack down on the cluttered worktop with a sigh. “I’m sorry I took so long to come back. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Bellamy tells her, his voice rough with disuse. “That medicine you gave me must have worked.”

“But not better enough to try to leave yet?”

He frowns at her like she's offended him somehow. “No, not yet.”

Clarke doesn't dwell on it. Instead she busies herself portioning out some food of the food she brought for him and gives it to him carefully, along with a canteen of fresh water. She’s well aware that he could still attack and overpower her, even in his vulnerable state, but he takes it from her without hesitation. While he eats, she leans back against the wall behind her and rests her eyes for a moment. She was exhausted already and she still had a shift to work later in medical.

After a few minutes of silence between them, Bellamy clears his throat. “I started to think you weren’t going to come back.”

Her eyes fly open at this. Bellamy was looking down at the now empty bowl in his lap like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “I’m sorry,” she says again. “There was an emergency at camp. A boy… He died today.”

“You tried to save him?”

“Unsuccessfully,” Clarke replies with a grimace.

“So you’re a fisa then -- a healer.”

“I’m a doctor-in-training. Like a healer, I guess.” 

Bellamy nods thoughtfully, then raises his eyes to meet her gaze. There was a somber expression to his features, something akin to empathy maybe. “I’m sorry the boy died today.”

She feels the renegade tear run down her cheek before she can even register that she’s begun to cry. Clarke had tried to repress all the emotions she’d felt since this morning -- since before they’d come down from space even, if she was being completely honest -- but it was proving hard to remain so stoic all the damn time. She swipes angrily at hers eyes, knowing Bellamy is still looking and has probably noticed too.

“Ignore me. I didn’t -- I’m just tired,” Clarke gathers herself together as quickly as she’s able to. Rocking forward on her feet, she continues, “Now let me have a look at those bandages. I need to see how your wound’s coming along. The sooner it’s healed, the sooner you can get back home to your people.”

Bellamy lets her get to work, sitting up on the balls of his elbows to offer better access to his torso. His tanned biceps bulge under his own weight and Clarke has to remind herself that now is most definitely not the time to get distracted by a stranger's muscles. At the same time Clarke begins to peel off the bandages, she also begins to talk. 

“How did you even end up with a spear in your chest?”

“There was a skirmish,” Bellamy replied, grimacing. “Azgeda. They were on our lands.”

“So you’re a warrior then?”

“Yes. But I was with a scouting party when it happened.”

The next gauze that Clarke removes is sticky, having melded a little to his wound overnight. Bellamy flinches as she peels it away, cursing through his teeth in that strange language he had spoken before.

“That’s not English, is it?”

“Trigedasleng,” he tells her. “Only warriors speak English in our culture.”

Clarke frowns at this. “Why?”

“It’s just the way things are, the way that we’re raised. Not all the clans speak the same kind of Trigedasleng either.”

“So it’s like different dialects for different regions?”

Bellamy nods. 

“I don't know much about your people or your culture,” she admits, cleaning around his wound carefully with a clean, wet cloth. The stitches she put in yesterday are holding, but she's still worried about infection. “None of my people do. We're told that the world outside our fences is dangerous. I know the Chancellor -- our leader -- wants to arrange peace talks, but our messengers have been attacked each time they've set out to make contact.”

Bellamy doesn't reply. His dark, thickly-lashed eyes are looking blankly at something behind her, like he doesn't want to give anything away. 

“You're the first Grounder I've ever met,” she tells him, her voice coming out so much softer than she'd intended. It makes her sound younger than her eighteen years. “You aren't what I expected.”

“And what did you expect?”

“I don't know… For you to be more fierce, maybe? _Scarier_?”

To her utter surprise, Bellamy barks out a laugh at this. It seems to catch him off guard too, if the way he subsequently stiffens in pain is anything to go by. She pauses her work on his chest for a moment to let him recover. 

“I'm sorry I've disappointed you,” he coughs, his eyes shining with amusement. 

Clarke smiles at him. “Not at all, actually.”

Their conversation continues as Clarke rebandages his torso. She tells him that her people used to live on a space station and that they had to come down to Earth because their life support system was failing. Bellamy tells her a little bit about the different clans, explains the animosity between his people and the aforementioned Ice Nation, but his anecdotes are always matter-of-fact and concise, like he's paying careful attention to how much he tells her. It only makes her curiosity grow more. 

Even after she's done patching him up, Clarke stays in the bunker with Bellamy. In the strangest of ways, it's kind of nice spending time in the company of someone who doesn't know her and doesn't have any expectations of her. She's just a girl from Skaikru -- not the Chancellor's daughter, not one of the privileged. 

And she knows that what she's doing here is more than a little crazy, that it can't and won't last forever. Bellamy will recover soon enough and he'll be able to return to his own people. She'll probably never see him again once they eventually part ways. 

But still, she's got this time right now. She intends to learn as much about him and his people and their mysterious ways as she can before he has to leave. It doesn't hurt that he's surprisingly easy to spend time with in the meantime.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say a quick thank you for all the lovely feedback the first part received, I was seriously amazed and I'm so grateful! 
> 
> I love Grounder!Bellamy stories just as much as all of you lol.
> 
> I'm hoping to finish this story by the end of the month, so the next update should be sometime next week. Also, I forgot to add before that the title of this fic is taken from Holy Ground by Banners. I've been listening to it on repeat whilst writing this thing.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this next chapter, there's some soft parts that I hope you'll like. Let me know what you think :)
> 
> Arby x

Idleness, as it turns out, is not one of Bellamy’s strong suits.

For the next few days, he’s resigned to do little more than focus on recuperating. There's not much to it really, he just has to rest and try not to move around too much, take whatever medicine Clarke gives him and hope that he'll be well enough to leave as soon as possible. 

He's still in a lot of pain, but it's hardly measurable at this point; the agony is more or less constant, even when he sleeps, and the simple act of standing up is still near-impossible.

Bellamy has been constantly worried about his sister too. 

His village must probably think him dead by now. The fact that his friends left him behind in the forest means that they probably thought he already was and that they would've tried to come back for his body later. But he can't allow himself to spend too much time dwelling on the hypothetical consequences of his supposed death and what it would mean for his clan’s uneasy truce with Azgeda -- what it might mean for his Heda’s precious coalition. 

It was all the more reason for him to get better and get home quickly. 

Clarke had thankfully proved herself a capable healer so far. Her visits were more regular, an hour each morning and longer once it got dark out at the end of the day. Like clockwork she brought food, fresh water and clean dressings.

She talked a lot, too. Told him snippets about her people, what it was like growing up in space, and even about her work in their camp's medical unit. And when she asked questions in return, he answered to the best of his ability, his replies always careful but never dishonest. 

At the end of the third day she brought him a book.

“You said you could read English and I figured you must be bored senseless, so…” she told him as she handed over the book, her cheeks slightly more flushed than usual, “Here you go. You can keep it.”

“Thank you,” his reply was gruff and sincere as he inspected the worn, old cover. _Celtic Legends from Old Britain_. He'd read books before, all borrowed either from the old world library in Polis or shared freely amongst the people in his village, but he'd never been gifted one to keep before. 

At first he'd thought there must be something more to him being here, that Clarke and her people must have had some ulterior motive for keeping him alive. That maybe they knew exactly _who_ he was. He stayed guarded and cautious, wondering at what moment more of Skaikru might suddenly appear and drag him away to be tortured or worse. But no one else ever came. 

It seemed that Clarke's intentions were honest, that she was truly only trying to help him. She was proving to be full of surprises. 

He skimmed through the book whilst she moved back over to the old desk on the other side of the room, sorting through miscellaneous supplies and other items he couldn't quite see in the dim light.

“Your people won't notice this is missing?”

She glances over at him. “It's my father's book, so no, they won't.”

“But won't your father notice?”

“No,” she replies, her tone sharper than before. “He's dead.”

It's Bellamy's turn to look at her now. Her shoulders are slumped and she's standing still, her task seemingly forgotten. She looks so small, so young. Some strange part of him feels the need to comfort her, but he wouldn't even know where to start.

The book in his hands suddenly feels like it weighs a tonne. 

“I’m sorry. It’s hard losing the people you love,” Bellamy says. He knows from his own experiences just how hard it is. 

She meets his gaze and her expression softens slightly, like she can tell he's not being unkind or just saying it. That he understands, somehow. 

“We're only here -- only _alive_ \-- because of him,” Clarke continues quietly. “He's the reason our people came back down to Earth, but he was… He died before the exodus began. Sometimes I look at our life here on the ground and think maybe he had a lucky escape, after all.”

“You miss him.”

Clarke nods. “All the damn time.” She holds up a roll of bandages and a small jar of some sort of herbal poultice, which Bellamy knows by now means she's going to check his wound over. He lifts himself onto his elbows with real effort as she kneels in front of him. 

“My father died when I was young. I never knew him,” Bellamy says, and he's not entirely sure why he's telling her this. He never really talks about his parents, not even with Octavia. “But my mother died two summers ago. It was very unexpected, but she didn't suffer. I still miss her.”

Clarke looks up at him with a sad, knowing smile. There's a beat of silence between them but it's not uncomfortable or pitying. The morbid camaraderie they've inadvertently found settles over them both.

“Life sure is a bitch sometimes.”

“You sound just as cynical as my sister,” Bellamy says, shaking his head with amusement despite the tone of their conversation. 

“You have a sister?” 

“Yes.”

“Just the one? Any brothers?” Clarke asks, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Just the one, as far as I know.”

“That's _incredible_. My people -- well, we don’t have siblings. Back when we were in space there was a law forbidding parents to have more than one child because our resources were so limited.”

“That’s horrible,” Bellamy replies, frowning. “How could they even stop people from having more than one child?”

“Mandatory contraception for all girls over the age of sixteen. And if people did try to have a second child it was considered a crime punishable by death.”

“That can't be true.”

“Sadly it is. I take it that having siblings is common for your people?”

“Of course,” Bellamy says, because he's never even imagined a world where his sister didn't exist, let alone one where she wasn't even allowed to exist. It was a terrifying thought. “Your people don't sound so great, you know.”

Clarke laughs without humour. “No, I suppose we're not.”

She works on getting the last of the gauze off his chest and Bellamy watches her face draw into a pale frown. Without warning she reaches out to cup his cheek, her small hand strikingly cool against his skin. Bellamy inhales sharply, caught off guard by her unexpected touch. 

“How much pain are you in right now?”

“I don't know,” he replies. It's hard to get a gauge on how bad it is after several days of agony. “It just hurts.”

Clarke's lips thin into a grim line. “Bellamy, your wound is infected and you've got a high fever. You need antibiotics. I don't have any here -- I'll have to bring some in the morning. Will you be alright by yourself until then?”

Bellamy does his best to muster up some bravado, but his smirk is shaky as he says, “I'll be fine until morning, Clarke.”

Her hand lingers on his face unnecessarily for a moment longer and then she pulls away, focused on cleaning up his wound with a new vengeance. 

He sucks in a deep breath and decides to let her do the worrying for him for now. Not getting better decidedly isn't an option. He needs to get home. 

He needs to get better. 

* * *

She's up before dawn, twigs snapping loudly under her hurried feet as she rushes through the woods as fast as she physically can. Sleep had been out of reach all night long, her mind too full of worry. His wound had looked far worse than she'd let on. 

Of all the damn people in Arkadia, she'd bumped into John Murphy on her way out of camp. Clarke had given him the same spiel she'd told Wells about the glowing mushrooms, however Murphy was seemingly immune to everyone's bullshit except his own. In the end she'd had to trade him two days worth of her electricity ration in return for him covering for her. He hadn't bothered to ask why she was so desperate, and for that Clarke was mildly thankful. 

She reaches the bunker in record time, climbs down the dark stairwell and heads straight over to Bellamy's sleeping form in the corner. 

“Bellamy?” She asks, gingerly pressing the back of her palm to his forehead. He's clammy to touch and insanely feverish, ten times worse than when she'd left him nine hours ago. He only groans hoarsely in response. 

Clarke pulls open her backpack, digs out the liquid bag of antibiotics and gets to work setting up a makeshift pole so that she can get a drip going into his arm. 

It hadn't been easy getting the antibiotics out of the med unit's supply room. They were in short supply as it stood and she was sure that Jackson would quickly notice a bag missing when he next took inventory, but she couldn't worry about that right now. She would come up with some excuse or another when the time came. 

Bellamy makes a noise halfway between a hiss and a whine when she inserts the cannula into his wrist, but he doesn't wake. 

Once the drip’s going, Clarke falls back onto her heels and lets out a shaky sigh. 

She doesn't quite understand how the infection had gotten so bad so quickly. She had been so careful to keep the wound clean, to watch out for signs that anything was wrong with the healing process. Her only guess is that the spearhead that hit him must've been purposefully coated in something nasty, with the intention to cause an infection that could kill if the initial injury didn't in the first place. It was rumoured that some of the Grounder clans did resort to using cruel tactics like this.

All Clarke could do now was wait and hope that he'd start getting better soon. The alternative was a horrifying thought. 

Getting him down into the bunker in the first place was a feat by itself. Having to get a dead body out would be a much more difficult prospect. Besides, it would be downright horrible if he didn't make it now. 

Each person she couldn’t save took a piece of her soul with them that she could never get back. It was ironic, really, that going to the ground was supposed to be their chance to _really live_ and yet, here she was now, more intimately acquainted with death than ever before. 

Time passes slowly and she keeps a vigilant watch over him, alternating between monitoring the drip with hawklike attention and sponging down his skin with water in an effort to help him to keep cool. 

With little else to do, she takes the opportunity to properly look at him without having to worry about him noticing. She memories his face -- the harshness of his jaw, the softness of his lips, the slope of his nose and the countless freckles that dust his skin. Occasionally his features twist in distress, from pain or some kind of fever dream she doesn't know. It’s hard seeing him like this.

She cares about all her patients, but she knows that whether Bellamy lives or dies feels more momentous somehow. They’re still just strangers, really, but she can’t help worrying about him so much. She can’t even properly explain it herself. 

When he whimpers and begins to twist in discomfort, Clarke doesn't hesitate to take his hand in her own. A few minutes later she feels his palm tighten slightly around hers. 

“You're going to be okay,” she tells him, maybe more for her own benefit than his. 

Bellamy's lips move and she leans closer to try to hear what he's saying, but nothing is intelligible. It's just pitiful moaning and gibberish. 

After a while, Clarke reluctantly attempts to disentangle their hands so that she can get some fresh water, but the second she tries to pull away his grip around her tightens. 

“Nou go,” he murmurs in Trigedasleng, barely audible, his eyes still closed. 

“I won't,” she promises and resumes her crouched position next to him. She doesn't try to let go of his hand again. 

A few more hours pass and eventually Bellamy's fever breaks. His skin is still slightly pallid and clammy, but it's returned back to a normal, non-lifethreatening temperature. She watches his eyelids flutter softly, his sleep seemingly more peaceful now. 

Relief floods over her, and not longer after her exhaustion starts to catch up with her, too. 

Clarke isn't sure what time it is when her eyes eventually droop closed. Rest is all too welcome after the last few days she’s had.

* * *

Bellamy dreams of his mother. 

She's standing in a strange room made of metal, willowy and tall and _so real_ as her bright green eyes stare back at him. He'd like to think she's smiling at him, familiar and tender, but she disappears into thin air before he can think to smile back. Then there's a strange noise coming from beneath his feet, like something is knocking against the floor. He glances down, listening, but before he can investigate his body is thrown backwards out of the room. 

Then he's falling through the sky, hurtling at a speed he's never known before in his life. He can see his village far below, the people milling about, the treetops growing closer and closer. The air leaves his lungs, his velocity increasing. His skin feels like it's aflame. 

“Yu na gon okei,” a sing-song voice calls out to him.

Clarke sails past him, falling at such speed that she's little more than a golden blur. She holds out her hand to him, but she's too far away for him to reach it. 

“Come back,” he rasps against the wind. Clarke falls further from his reach. “Don't go!”

And then she's gone, and the only thing he can see is the hard, rocky patch of ground he's quickly approaching. He closes his eyes before the impact, certain it will kill him, but it never comes. 

* * *

There's an unfamiliar, warm weight against his body when he wakes. His eyes blink open and he's confused to find Clarke's small body curled against his own, her head tucked into his arm. Bellamy glances down to find that their fingers are intertwined. 

He tries to move his free arm, only to feel a sting of pain. Bellamy frowns. There's a needle in his wrist, attached to some sort of tube that leads to a bag hanging above him. When the hell did that happen? 

Everything is a complete blur. He was so certain he was starting to feel better, but then the infection had taken hold and he'd quickly been unable to do anything other than sleep. He doesn't even remember Clarke coming back, let alone falling asleep next to him. 

She twitches beside him, beginning to stir. There's no feasible way for Bellamy to move away from her before she wakes up, so the next sixty seconds or so are torturous as she slowly comes to. 

He hasn't woken up next to a girl in a while, but those instances usually have an entirely different set of circumstances. This is altogether too confusing.

Her fingers twitch against his own and his heart beats erratically. 

All of a sudden, Clarke sits up. She looks just as bewildered as he is. Her hair is a tangled mess, her face shadowed in the dim light. She turns to look at him and her eyes widen. 

“You're awake,” she states, grinning unabashedly. “You're actually awake! God, you had me so freaking worried.”

“How long was I out for?”

“A whole day, at least. It's --” Clarke pauses to check the chunky old watch on her wrist. “Oh, shit! It's four in the morning -- I should've been back at camp hours ago. This is bad.”

“Clarke--”

She scrambles off the floor before he can continue, looking around the small room wildly for her belongings. Clarke heads straight over to her backpack, chucking a few things inside it, before she swings back around and her eyes land on Bellamy. 

She stops, visibly torn. 

“Go,” he tells her. “You should go.”

“I can't just leave you hooked up to that IV,” she argues, letting out a sigh. “Besides, I need to change your dressings and you need to eat something, too.”

“Clarke, if you have to get back--”

“It's okay. I - I can stay for another hour. Besides, it would look worse if someone caught me at this time. It's better to wait.”

“You really don't have to stay.”

She gives him a sharp look. “Let me get that cannula out of your arm.”

He isn't quite sure what a cannula is supposed to be, but a moment later Clarke's carefully removing the needle from his wrist. She holds a piece of fabric to it to quell any bleeding and he can't but help notice how her touch seems to lingers on his skin even after she pulls away. 

“How do you feel?”

“Not as bad as before.”

“That's good. It might take you a few days to get over the infection, but the antibiotics will have helped. I think that spearhead must've been coated in something on purpose.”

“It's possible,” he agrees. “Can I have some water? My throat is so dry.”

“Of course,” she says, pouring up. a cup and passing it to him. 

Clarke slips into full doctor mode thereafter. She changes his dressings, gives an approving hum when she checks over the stitched-up wound, and gets him to take some more medicine. He lets her get on with it.

They eat together in silence, sharing glances at each other every now and again. 

When she reaches back to tie her tangled hair into a braid, Bellamy’s reminded of his strange dream again. He almost wants to tell her about it, but he stops himself. Their relationship is already unconventional enough, as well as temporary. It would be something else altogether to admit that he’d actually dreamt about her when he was at his worst. 

“I’ve really got to leave now,” Clarke announces, smiling at him apologetically as she gets to her feet. “I’ll see you tonight, okay? Try to get some more rest.”

“Sure. See you later, Clarke.”

Once she’s gone, having thrown one last smile over her shoulder in the doorway, Bellamy feels a little bit lost. 

He’s still unfathomably tired and achy, but he would rather not sleep again just yet. Instead he finds the copy of _Celtic Legends from Old Britain_ that Clarke gave him and begins to read, quickly losing himself in the pages.

* * *

The sun is just beginning to rise as she gets back to Arkadia. 

She heads to the Mess Hall first, not because she’s hungry but because she needs to talk to Murphy and she knows he’s an early-riser. She has no idea whether or not he even bothered to keep his promise to cover for her, so finding him is her first priority. 

Luckily it doesn’t take her long to find him. There are only a dozen or so other people in the makeshift, tented canteen they've made in the centre of camp, either people coming off night shifts or just those who still struggle to sleep without the constant background noises of the Ark. Murphy’s at a table by himself in the back, an untouched tray of food in front of him.

He doesn’t bother to acknowledge her until she’s standing right in front of him.

“Good morning,” he greets flatly. “I assume you’ve come to give me those electricity rations I was promised?”

“Not until I know you kept up your end of the bargain,” Clarke counters, taking a seat beside him. “Did anyone notice I was gone?”

“Jaha was asking a few people if they’d seen you, but he never bothered to ask me. I’m sure you’ll be able to give some excuse or another.”

“No one else?”

Murphy rolls his eyes, feigning exasperation. “Don’t look so disappointed, Griffin. You’re not exactly a social butterfly, are you now? Try making some more friends and maybe some people will actually care about where you are.”

Clarke gapes at him incredulously. “I have friends, Murphy.”

“Is that so? Then why did you ask me to cover for you and not one of your many friends?”

She scoffs, but truthfully she doesn’t know what to say to that. She does have friends, but she hadn’t wanted to burden any of them with this. Besides, Jasper and Monty weren’t exactly known to be great at keeping their mouths shut, and Raven was far too clever to not ask questions. 

Frankly, it was hard to gauge who could even be trusted with the truth.

“So, my electricity rations?” Murphy prompts, smirking.

“You'll get them,” she grinds out. 

“Good. By the way, is that _blood_ on your shirt?”

She cringes, glancing down to see a smear of Bellamy's red blood on the fabric of her top. Before she can even think of how to explain it away, there’s heavy footsteps behind them and they both turn to see Marcus Kane coming right over to their table. 

“Clarke, there you are,” the older man says, his expression serious as he approaches them. “It’s your mother -- she needs to speak with you.”

“So she sent you rather than coming to me herself?”

Kane sighs tiresomely. “It’s important, Clarke, and it can’t wait. Will you come and see her?

There’s a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach, but she nods anyway and waves a quick goodbye to Murphy. Kane moves with purpose towards the wreckage of Alpha Station and Clarke’s thankful that he doesn’t bother trying to make smalltalk. She’s far too nervous to pretend she likes him.

He knocks on the door to the Chancellor’s quarters and Clarke takes a deep breath before following him in. 

Whatever this is about, she’s sure it can’t be good. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much for all the amazing feedback this story has received so far. I'm so thankful for all of you.
> 
> There's a *lot* to unpack in this next chapter, but it's all to do with the plot. This story has grown in my head and I feel like I may have to make this a 5 part fic instead of 4 now. I don't think I'll be able to fit in everything that I want to happen in just one chapter, so... Yeah lol.
> 
> Also, just to make it clear - in this story everything that happened on the Ark still happened, it's just that the exodus took place first instead of sending the delinquents down alone. 
> 
> Anyway, without further rambling from me, here's part 3 for y'all. I hope you like it :) please let me know what you think in the comments!
> 
> Arby x

Clarke’s whole body seems to stiffen as she follows Kane into her mother’s quarters. It was never easy to predict Chancellor Abby Griffin these days, so Clarke figured it was better to be on her guard.

Particularly as she had a worrying feeling in her gut that this conversation might be about Bellamy.

“You asked to see me?”

It’s a moment or two before her mom glances up from the papers and maps in front of her. She looks Clarke up and down briefly, but there's no tenderness in her gaze. She silently gestures for her daughter to take a seat on the empty stool opposite her desk.

It's not like she's expecting fake niceties from her mother -- for Abby to notice that she's looking tired and thinner than ever or that she's barely been around this past week -- but the suspense might just be worse.

“What's this about, Mom?” Clarke prompts again, sitting down nervously on the unbalanced stool.

“I’m travelling to Polis this afternoon. The leader of the Grounders has finally agreed to meet for peace talks.”

Clarke’s eyes widen. “Peace talks? Why now?”

“There’s been some sort of development between their clans. I’m not sure what’s happened, exactly, but it means that suddenly we’re now more valuable to have as allies than as enemies.”

“And they really want to discuss peace?”

“We have what they need,” Abby says vaguely. “So it seems like a peaceful alliance could be a viable outcome. I'm eager to see what they can offer us in return for our help.”

“You mean, in return for our guns?”

“That’s not--” Kane begins to say, but Abby cuts him off sharply.

“Potentially,” her mother admits. “But we also have technology and skills far more advanced than their own to offer. Frankly, it was ignorant of them to dismiss us for this long. They need us and they know it.”

Half a dozen retorts come to mind, but Clarke decides it’s better to keep her mouth shut right now. It’s not often her mother shares important information like this with her. It’s not very often these days that they talk at all.

Besides, seeing her mother behind the Chancellor’s desk is downright unnerving. Her familiar face is drawn tight with an unfamiliar sternness, weathered and hardened by the grim reality of life on the Ground.

Clarke thinks it’s a real feat for her to even find the energy to still bear such prejudiced and condescending opinions towards the Grounders. All it would take is one look outside at their sorry-looking camp and disillusioned populace to see that maybe the Grounders were actually the valuable allies to be had and not the other way around.

There was no room for arrogance when it was clear their people probably wouldn’t see through another winter here without help.

“Marcus will be travelling with me, so Major Byrne and Sergeant Miller will be left in charge while I’m gone. Jackson will be taking over some of my other duties too, which means that I’ll need you to help keep an eye on things in the Med Unit. Understood?”

Clarke nods.

“You should keep this quiet though,” Kane adds. “We don't want the camp to become unstable in our absence. Things need to carry on like normal.”

“Of course.”

“Oh, and Clarke,” Abby says, apparently remembering something else. “I'll need you to help Jackson with the inventory take in Medical this week. Some supplies have been going missing and we need to find the culprit.”

“What's missing?” Clarke asks, trying her best to sound surprised.

“Bandages, some medicine. Jackson’s got some notes he'll go through with you. Just keep an eye on the trainees and patients, will you? Make sure you report anything suspicious.”

“Sure,” Clarke replies, digging her nails into the palms of her hands to stop them from trembling.

Despite her nerves, she doesn't feel bad about being dishonest with her mother. Anyway, it was Abby who lied in the first place and then watched her get thrown into the Sky Box for simply wanting to tell the truth instead. It is hardly surprising that Clarke feels no remorse about helping Bellamy right under her mother's nose.

“Good girl,” Abby says, satisfied. “Check in with him tomorrow morning and he'll go over everything with you. I'll send word from Polis when we arrive.”

Don't bother, Clarke thinks, but all she says instead is, “Okay, Mom. Can I go now or is there anything else?”

“No, there's nothing else. You can go.”

Clarke does her best to plaster on a smile and dismisses herself. Neither Abby or Kane pay her attention as she leaves, already busy talking among themselves about travel plans.

When she slips out into the quiet of the corridor, Clarke feels her shoulders slump in relief.

* * *

“ _Ailon_ \-- that's island. _Bleirona_ is sword, and _chilnes_ means peace.”

Clarke repeats the words in Trigedasleng, testing the sounds out on her tongue.

At first Bellamy had been hesitant to teach her some of his language, but Clarke had been persistent in her curiosity and in the end he'd figured that a few words and phrases couldn't hurt. Besides, she _had_ saved his life, so it was the least he could do. He felt like he owed her so much more.

She grins at him and Bellamy finds himself grinning back. “What else?”

“ _Dulasei_ means honest,” he says. “ _Enti_ means hungry. _Fisa_ is healer.”

“You already taught me Fisa so that doesn't count.”

“Fine,” Bellamy concedes, shaking his head. “But you have to guess this one then, okay?

“Okay,” Clarke replies excitedly.

“ _Fanas_.”

“Fanas… Like a fan, a motor? Or an umbrella?”

“No,” Bellamy chuckles. “Fanas means sexy, like attractive.”

“Seriously?” Clarke huffs, laughing too. There's a pink flush to her cheeks as she playfully shoves his knee. “When am I ever supposed to use that?!”

“ _Beda klir kom moba_ ,” he tells her, smirking. “Better safe than sorry. You never know when it could come in handy.”

She repeats the phrase under her breath and smiles.

“It's really something that your people came up with a whole new language in less than a century, whereas my people seem to just be regressing more and more by the day.”

“It was necessary or so I'm told. English couldn't be trusted in the early days.” Bellamy pauses. “It's not good, is it? At your camp?”

“No worse than the Ark, but… I don't know. I guess I kind of thought that once we got settled down here that things would start getting easier, less strict and oppressive. But our leaders won't hear of change.”

“I'm sure things will get better, Clarke. You just have to have hope.”

When she looks at him there's an almost indescribable softness to her features and he feels a lump form in his throat.

“Is there a word for hope in Trigedasleng?” Clarke asks, her voice small.

Bellamy nods. “Hofli.”

“Hofli,” she says, half to herself, and smiles at him again. “I like that one.”

After that Clarke insists that she'd better stop bothering him so that he can get some rest. Bellamy doesn't argue -- he's tired and aching, and he knows that she's not going anywhere just yet.

For the past few days she'd been spending what seemed like almost all her free time with him in the bunker. She'd mentioned that the Skaikru’s leader had gone to Polis to meet with his Heda, so Bellamy could only guess that somehow it was suddenly easier for Clarke's absence to go unnoticed. He was hardly complaining, anyway.

After a week in her company, he had to admit that he'd grown to actually quite enjoy it despite his initial reservations. She was inquisitive, clever and always surprisingly kind. He liked talking to her, liked reading in comfortable silence next to her whilst she sketched in her notepad. And, not so admittedly, he also liked stealing glances at her blue eyes and her lips in the dim light of the lantern.

Bellamy thought that maybe they might even consider each other friends by now.

In a perfect world, their leaders would agree on a lasting peace and this situation they'd found themselves in would no longer have to be some big secret.

But that was wishful thinking.

Clarke had told him about the supposed peace talks between Skaikru and the Coalition, but they both had their reservations on the matter and doubted any real fruition.

Bellamy knew that their friendship had an expiration date -- one that was growing closer each day.

The temporariness of it all gave him a headache. In his mind he couldn't reconcile the fact that getting well enough to finally go home would also inevitably mean saying goodbye to Clarke, perhaps forever. It was a near-future full of juxtaposing emotions and he just couldn't see a happy solution.

“How's your book?” Clarke asks after a little while, smiling at him over the top of her sketchpad.

“Very good,” he says, clearing his throat. “Thank you again.”

“ _Mochof_ means thank you,” Clarke says, evidently pleased with herself as she grins down at whatever she's drawing. “I remembered that one.”

Bellamy smiles back, but it feels a little bittersweet.

“Ailon, bleirona, chilnes,” Clarke repeats to herself, like a child eager to commit what she's learned to memory. “Hofli.”

His book sits forgotten in his lap. Instead Bellamy just watches Clarke for a while, wondering how on earth he started actually caring for this complete stranger -- and how on earth he's supposed to just let her go.

* * *

The next afternoon Clarke is busy checking on an expectant young mother. She wasn't the first to fall pregnant since they'd crash-landed on the ground and she wouldn't be the last, so routine home visits had already appropriately been put in place. But when Jasper flies through the door of the woman's cabin unannounced, his eyes wild and his face flushed red with anger, Clarke drops her stethoscope instantly.

“Clarke -- it's Harper! You've got to help! Byrne won't listen to any of us!”

Clarke's already gathering her stuff before Jasper is even finished speaking. She throws the mother-to-be a quick apologetic look and bolts out the door after him.

“What's happened?” She demands as they hurry across the camp, fear flooding her gut.

“Some little kids were hungry and took some food from one of the stores,” Jasper explains breathlessly. “Harper was meant to be guarding it and she didn't report the kids. Byrne’s punishing her for misconduct!”

“What?!” Clarke asks, because she almost wouldn't believe it if it weren't so typical of the Guard to do something like this.

Jasper throws her a look over his shoulders, his eyes full of both rage and heartbreaking upset. Clarke speeds up behind him.

They finally make their way to a small clearing in between a group of cabins and wooden stores. They push through the raucous crowd that's gathered, and Clarke is horrified to see that at the centre Harper is strung up to two metal posts whilst Major Byrne brandishes a shock lash in her right hand.

There's an echoing crack as the lash connects with Harper's back, once, then twice. Wells is physically holding Raven back and Monty is screaming noiselessly into his fists. They watch as Harper cries out in agony. There's blood dripping onto the ground by her feet.

“Oh, God,” Clarke chokes out. She's running forward before she can properly think this through. “Major Byrne, stop! Please stop!”

Byrne glances at Clarke disapprovingly, her arm already swinging back in preparation for another blow. “Don't interfere, Clarke.”

“Please just stop,” she tries again, desperately tugging on Byrne’s arm now.

The older woman shrugs her off, wheeling back around.“Your mother's the Chancellor, not _you_. There's nothing you can do, so please leave. I'm just following my orders to enforce our laws.”

“Byrne -- she's been punished enough! You're killing her!”

Byrne swings her arm backwards again, not listening to Clarke's or anyone else's pleas to stop. Before the shock lash can connect however, Clarke barrels towards Byrne with all her might. The two women are sent sprawling into the mud and Clarke feels a horrific, burning snap of pain across the back of her forearm.

She claws her way backwards in the dirt, away from Byrne and the dreaded shock lash lying in between them. The older woman is looking at her in horror. Hands are suddenly under her arms, hauling her up to her feet.

“Harper--” Clarke begins immediately, whirling around to see that Miller and Monty are already untying the other girl from the posts.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Wells exclaims from behind her, apparently the one to have helped her up.

Clarke ignores him, pushing forward to the rest of their friends. The crowd is a chaotic flurry around them.

“Let's get her to the Med Unit,” Raven orders, ushering Miller and Monty forward as they carry Harper between them. “Quickly, guys.”

Jackson is besides himself when they arrive in the small area curtained off for triaging. He barks out orders for Clarke to bring him equipment, painkillers and dressings. She mindlessly does as she is told, helping as best she can to make Harper comfortable.

Her hands are shaking by the time she steps outside to give her friends an update.

“She'll be okay,” Clarke tells him, trying to keep her voice steady. “She needs to rest and recover.”

“Fuck Byrne,” Monroe spits as she paces around. “Fuck this whole place.”

“We were better off in the Sky Box,” Jasper adds grimly. A few of them nod in miserable agreement.

Clarke doesn't really know what to say. He's not entirely wrong, but it seems so hopeless to say that he's right.

“Jackson said she can have two people sit with her,” she tells them. “So…”

Monty doesn't hesitate before heading straight inside, Monroe close at his heels. The rest of the group shuffle around uselessly, talking bitterly among themselves.

“You shouldn't have done that,” Wells says from beside her, a frown pinching his face. “Byrne will be even more pissed off now. She'll tell your mom, you know.”

“I don't care,” Clarke says, even though she knows that he's correct. “She wouldn't have stopped.”

“She won't stop,” Raven interjects. “The Guard is just going to get worse, especially with winter coming.”

“I'll talk to my mom when she's back, tell her that things need to change--” Clarke tries, but she's cut off by a dark look from Miller. He's holding his own guardsman jacket in his hands, his fists buried angrily in the coarse material.

“Things won't change,” he says, shaking his head. “Chancellors don't change. Harper won't be the last person they torture for no good reason.”

Miller drops his jacket in the mud and storms off. Clarke and the others watch him go, falling into an uneasy silence.

Raven touches her shoulder and Clarke turns, blinking. “You arm, Clarke -- you should get Jackson to take a look at it.”

“It's fine,” Clarke lies, looking down at her father's old watch. It won't be long until it's dark out now. “I have somewhere to be, anyway.”

The truth is she can't stand to be in this godforsaken camp a minute more. She needs to see Bellamy, to reassure herself that he's okay -- and for him to reassure her that everything else will be okay, too.

She can't stomach seeing her friends' broken faces any longer, so she runs in the direction of Raven's clandestine gate and doesn't look back.

* * *

It's hard to tell the time of day inside the bunker. The hours seem to blur together; the artificial light making it confusing to know when it's daytime and when it's night. Clarke thinks Bellamy must be sick of it by now, but he never complains. She's sure he must miss the sunshine.

If she somehow woke up back on the Ark again, she thinks she might miss the feel of sunshine on her skin most of all.

A warm hand squeezes her own comfortingly. She glances up from her notepad to see Bellamy watching her, his features drawn in concern. Well, she thinks, she might miss him too.

Clarke knows it's not really logical or rational of her. They've only known each other a little over ten days and they probably won't know each other for much longer now that he's getting his starting to get his strength back, but still.

On the Ark or down here on Earth, she knows it's inevitable that she's going to end up missing him.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing, I just can't get this stupid shading right.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her. “You know that's not what I meant, Clarke. Are you okay?”

She sighs, putting down her charcoal stick. “I'm fine, really. Just -- I'm just a bit burnt out, that's all.”

Bellamy looks like he wants to say more on the subject, but he let's it go. Instead he asks, “How's your friend doing?”

“Better, thanks. She's resting back in her cabin now,” Clarke tells him. “Her boyfriend, Monty, has been a better nursemaid than I could ever aspire to be.”

“I don't know, you've looked after me pretty well,” Bellamy teases. “Saved me from death twice, right?”

“Shut up. You got lucky.”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Bellamy says, looking thoughtful. “The healers back in my village will be impressed.”

“Aren't you homesick yet?”

“No, not as much as I thought I'd be.”

“Has anyone told you that you're too stoic for your own good?” Clarke smiles at him and rocks forward onto her heels. “How are you feeling today, anyway?”

“Much better. I slept pretty well.”

She has to duck her face at that, trying to hide the blush she's sure has risen to her cheeks.

It's not something they've talked about -- the few times when she's accidentally fallen asleep in the bunker, like last night for instance. Sometimes work back at camp will exhaust her, or other times she just can't keep her eyes open while he's reading out loud from his book, but it's always brushed over without discussion. Particularly the times when she wakes to find herself curled up next to him.

“Good. That's good,” she affirms, clearing her throat, and gets fully to her feet. “Think you can try standing up then? Seeing as you're so well-rested?”

“You think I'm ready to get up?”

“Well, we won't know unless you try.”

“Alright then,” Bellamy says, taking her hands when she reaches out to him.

It's a bit of a struggle helping him get upright at first. His muscles are stiff from disuse, his legs wobbly and unbalanced. But then he's finally standing, beaming proudly like he's just bested a thousand foot mountain.

Clarke grins back at him, unabashedly pleased that he's come so far in his recovery.

Bellamy gingerly takes a step forward, then another. A nervous laugh erupts from his chest. He let's go of Clarke's hands and takes another tentative step by himself.

“See? You'll be fighting fit in no time,”

“I feel like a newborn deer.”

“ _Trilipa_. That's deer, right?”

Bellamy smiles at her, taking another step. “That's right.”

He's halfway to the desk when his right leg seems to buckle, the muscles straining too much after ten days of disuse. Clarke rushes forward to help, throwing her arms around his waist to help him stay balanced.

“You've gotta take it slow,” she chides, helping him the rest of the way to the desk so that he can sit on the edge of the tabletop.

“Sorry. Got carried away,” Bellamy replies, giving her a sheepish look.

Clarke's suddenly aware how close they are to each other, with her arms still around his torso and her legs positioned between his. Their eyes are inches apart and his body is warm against hers. The expression on Bellamy's face turns serious, unreadable.

Her eyes flick downwards when he draws in a heavy breath, his lips parted and suddenly immeasurably tempting.

His thumb traces a delicate circle on her wrist and Clarke can hardly think straight right now. It's almost like he's daring her to do something. She thinks it would be so easy to just lean forward--

There's an echoing creak, the telltale sign of the bunker door opening.

Clarke audibly gasps, jumping backwards. Bellamy looks at her wildly, but there's nothing she can do. _Fuck_ , she doesn't know what to do.

Cold panic rushes through her arteries as the heavy footfalls on the metal staircase get closer and closer. It takes her a few seconds to work out that they belong to more than one person and her heart just about plummets to her feet.

“Clarke?” Comes Raven's unmistakable voice from the doorway. She steps into the room and freezes, her eyes widening as her hand instinctively flies to the holstered gun at her hip. “What the hell?”

“No, it's okay--” Clarke tries, but then suddenly Murphy is behind Raven. Then Miller, Jasper, Monroe and Wells, too. Her words die in her throat as her friends look between her and Bellamy in shock.

Murphy coughs, stepping forward with a slow smirk on his stupid face. “I see you took my advice, Griffin. Who's your new friend?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one took longer than planned, and it's also turned out a bit longer than intended too. As has this whole story apparently lol.
> 
> Thank you all once again for all the kind feedback, it means so much to little old me.
> 
> Arby x

The silence that engulfs the suddenly too-small space of the bunker is almost deafening. All Clarke wants is to disappear into the floor and sink further and further into the cold dirt below. It feels somehow like a much less daunting fate than having to face her friends right now. They're staring at her incredulously, waiting for an explanation, for a reason, for _something_. 

She glances back at Bellamy. His expression is closed-off, calculating the situation, his eyes trained unwaveringly on the gun at Raven's hip. She can’t tell if he’s scared, but she wouldn’t blame him if he was. 

“Well,” Murphy prompts, cocking an eyebrow. “Aren't you going to introduce us?”

She fights the urge to glare at Murphy. Clearing her throat, she says, “This is Bellamy -- he's Trikru, but he's not a threat. I found him in the woods. He was injured really badly and I've been taking care of him.”

“No fucking way,” Jasper chokes out. 

Wells shoots her a dubious look. “Clarke, whatever’s going on here -- you don't have to protect him. You know what the Grounders are like. He could be--”

“I swear he isn't dangerous,” she insists, suddenly offended. “It's the truth. Besides, you can't say that the Grounders are any worse than our own people. We were all there the other day when Major Byrne hurt Harper.”

“This isn't the same, Clarke. Don't you see how reckless this is? Are you really this stupid?”

“How dare you--” Clarke begins to exclaim, but Raven cuts her off abruptly before they can really get into it. 

“Does he talk?” She nods towards Bellamy with a suspicious glare. Clarke wheels round, trying to give him a reassuring look. 

“I do,” Bellamy replies gruffly. 

“You speak English?” The brunette’s eyes widen slightly. 

“Enough to get by.”

“Clearly,” Raven comments, glancing back over at Clarke. “So what’s your plan here? Play the good nurse and hope he won't turn on you? Maybe even keep him as a pet?”

Clarke bristles, squaring her shoulders defensively. “He’ll be well enough to go back to his people soon. And, just for the record, he wouldn’t hurt me.”

“You really believe that?” Wells asks, raising a brow at her doubtfully.

“I trust him,” she insists. It’s the truth -- she knows Bellamy would never hurt her, believes it so staunchly that she’s almost getting angry now. “So you guys are going to have to trust me on this. He’s not a threat to any of us.”

None of them look entirely convinced but they seem to relax a little, even if only minutely. Raven’s hand moves away from her gun and she shares a look with Wells. For some reason Clarke gets the feeling like she’s not the only one that’s been caught out.

“What the hell are you guys even doing out here, anyway? It’s past curfew.” 

“Just a meeting, kind of--” Wells starts to say, but he's cut off without warning. 

“We’re leaving Arkadia,” Miller interjects, matter-of-fact. He ignores the annoyed look Raven throws over her shoulder at him. “Things won’t change at camp, so we need to make a change instead.”

Clarke blinks. “You’re -- you guys are _leaving_? When?”

“Not right now,” Wells tells her. “But soon. We came here to strategise. There’s a lot to plan, a lot of people to talk to. We were going to ask you to come along tonight too, but no one could find you. Obviously.”

“We’ve been talking about it for months -- it's about time we actually do something about it,” Raven adds, her eyes filled with determination. “There’s no law that says we have to stay in Arkadia. There’s nothing they can do to stop us.”

Clarke has to take a second to let what they're saying sink in. They're really planning to leave. Sure, they'd all said from time to time that they'd be better off finding a place of their own, but she'd assumed it was all just wishful thinking. 

The idea of even leaving camp -- the supplies they'd need, the resources and knowledge -- always seemed too insurmountable to consider an achievable reality. 

“Where would you even go?” She asks, because that seems like the foremost question here. 

None of them have ever travelled far out of camp -- the guards have never allowed it, not even for hunting or gathering expeditions. They really know very little about the geography of the land, let alone the Grounder territories and borders that come with it. 

“North-west, towards the mountains,” Wells says.

Bellamy makes a disapproving noise from behind them. “You’d be heading straight into Azgeda territory. They’d slaughter you all.”

Clarke turns, looking at him. Her heart seems to stutter a little, suddenly remembering what almost happened between them just moments ago. She has to fight the urge to glance down at his lips and wraps her arms around herself instead, trying to stay collected. Now isn’t the time to be thinking of things like _that_. 

“Where then?” Raven asks him, raising an eyebrow challengingly. “Since you have inside knowledge, maybe you can give us some insight on where we go without having to worry about getting slaughtered, huh?”

Bellamy’s jaw tightens and he’s quiet for a long moment. When he finally speaks his voice is hesitant. “The coast is safer. There’s a clan there known as the Boat People -- they might help you, maybe offer you safe haven.”

“The coast,” Wells repeats, nodding to himself as he considers this. “These Boat People are less likely to kill us, you mean?”

“They’re pacifists,” Bellamy replies, curt. 

“Well, that’s something at least,” Monroe comments dryly. 

“And we should just take your word for it?” Raven counters.

“Clarke trusts me,” Bellamy says, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly at the group of scheming delinquents. “She saved my life. I wouldn't tell her or her friends to go somewhere unsafe.”

There's a tense silence after that, like the others are weighing him up. 

“Look, the Chancellor isn't going to let you just walk out of camp,” Clarke points out, sighing. “It's a nice idea, really, but--”

“We're not stuck on the Ark with no other choices anymore,” Raven cuts in, “your mom can't do a damn thing to stop us from leaving, Clarke. If you want to stay then suit yourself, but I choose freedom.”

“Come on, Griffin,” Murphy groans, apparently tired of the back-and-forth. “Are you with us or not?”

Clarke inhales sharply, hesitating only for a split second. “Do you even have to ask me that? Of course I'm with you guys.”

“Good,” Wells touches her arm and smiles, “Now that’s settled, let’s get to it. We don’t have much time.”

* * *

The next morning Bellamy sees the sunrise for the first time in close to two weeks. Tangerine and vibrant, illuminating the sky and the forest and everything in between -- yet it does nothing to brighten his mood. He's going home and he knows he should be happy about it, but there's a sinking feeling in his gut that he just can't shake. 

Clarke had decided that it was best for him to leave, sooner rather than later. The bunker was deemed no longer safe now. It wasn't like she expected her friends to betray her, but it was ultimately better to be safe than sorry. 

He closes his eyes, letting the emerging sunshine warm his face. There's birdsong in the trees, the distant gurgle of the river somewhere close by. He hears Clarke sigh and he turns to look at her. 

“You okay?”

“Fine,” she replies, smiling. It doesn't quite meet her eyes but he decides not to push it. “Just worried about you making it back to your village okay. You can barely walk ten feet, let alone ten miles.”

“I'll take it slow,” he tells her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. 

Clarke leans back against the bunker door and sighs again. “I'm sorry again -- about my friends. I didn't realise they'd make you draw so many maps.”

“I'm good at drawing maps.”

“Don't try to be funny right now. You really didn’t have to help them, Bellamy -- but I'm glad you did. Thank you.”

He can feel a flush rising traitorously to his cheeks. In many ways, the information he'd shared with Clarke and her Skaikru friends could be considered traitorous. He'd given them a rough idea of what areas to avoid, where Trikru activity was busiest, and what to expect from Floukru. Bellamy had done his best to keep his answers concise, giving only necessary advice and pointing out things of the utmost importance. Luna was wise and more importantly peaceful -- he could only trust that if they did find themselves at her shoreline then she'd offer them some kind of sanctuary. 

He knows his sister would call him a fucking idiot for sharing so much with them, but he trusts Clarke and she trusts him too. Without his input, it was likely she and her friends would've ended up in serious trouble.

Clearing his throat, he says, “Well, you didn't have to help me in the first place. It's the least I could do.”

She smiles at him again and this time it's genuine. The sinking feeling deep in his gut seems to grow tenfold. 

“We should go,” Clarke says. 

Bellamy nods, gesturing for her to lead the way.

They head through thick forest, navigating an overgrown trail that he suspects only animals and Clarke still use. He doesn’t know this part of the land well, so he tries to commit the path they take to memory as best he can. It seems important to remember this, even if he never comes back here again.

Too soon they reach the border of Trikru territory, where the hilly woodland slopes meet the rush of the river. They come to an abrupt stop, neither of them speaking for a moment. This is the point where he continues and Clarke has to turn back.

This is goodbye.

“How long will it take you to get back home from here?” Clarke asks in a quiet voice, trailing her hands idly over a lichen-covered boulder. 

“A few hours usually, but I promise I’ll pace myself.”

“Good,” Clarke grits out. “I just wish there was some way I could find out that you made it back okay. It’s -- I’m going to worry.”

“You wouldn’t be a good doctor if you didn’t worry.”

“A good doctor would remind you to make sure you clean your stitches every day.”

“I will. Don’t want to risk another infection.”

“And don’t do anything too strenuous -- don’t be stoic. Rest when you get home, okay?”

“I’ll probably fall straight into bed after walking all that way.”

There’s a pause, a frown deepening between Clarke’s brows. She doesn’t look at him when she speaks. “We won’t see each other again, will we?” 

Bellamy inhales sharply. He’s not sure if it’s a question or a statement, but he knows he doesn’t have to say anything. She’s finally spoken the terrible truth into existence. They both know the answer. 

He pulls her into his arms before he can overthink it and Clarke instantly melts into him, her arms threading tightly around his waist to meet at his lower back. It’s a bittersweet embrace -- simultaneously their first and their last, and all too soon it’ll be over. All he can think about is how warm and soft she is, how her hair smells like woodsmoke and something floral he can’t quite name, how she saved his life for no reason other than simply wanting to help him. 

Now more than ever he wishes things could be different. Maybe the peace talks between his Heda and the Skaikru Chancellor will work out. Maybe Clarke and her friends would be able to go to the coast and build a new home for themselves. Maybe this wouldn’t have to be the last time he sees her.

“Clarke, if I asked you to,” Bellamy begins to say before he can stop himself. His heart is thrumming loudly in his ears, his eyes wide as he pulls back to look at her. “Would you meet me again? Right here, in a week’s time?”

She stares at him, blue eyes searching his face for any sign that he might have gone insane all of a sudden. He doesn’t blame her, really -- it’s a completely insane idea. Not to mention dangerous, reckless and impulsive. He’s almost about to take it back--

“Yes,” Clarke replies before he can open his stupid mouth again. “I’ll meet you.”

“Are you sure? If you don’t it’s a good idea--”

“It’s a terrible idea,” she laughs, shaking her head. “But I’m sure. Right here, a week from today?”

“Right here,” he repeats, smiling.

Clarke huffs out a deep breath, ducking her head to hide her reciprocal smile. “Okay. At least then I’ll know you made it back in one piece.”

Bellamy’s arms tighten around her again, pulling her back into a hug. Inexplicable relief courses through him. It’s completely irrational that he’d go to such lengths to see a stranger from an enemy clan again, but it feels like the right decision. Clarke isn’t just some stranger, and she’s certainly not his enemy. He presses a chaste kiss on her forehead to seal the deal. 

When they finally let go of each other, it’s still hard to say goodbye -- but now at least it doesn't feel so grimly final.

Clarke insists on him going first, so that she can see him make a good start and not worry about him collapsing as soon as she turns her back. Bellamy knows better by now than to argue with her.

So he heads east in the direction of his village, towards his sister and his people, fighting the urge to look back over his shoulder for a third damn time as he goes. He knows Clarke will wait until she’s lost sight of him through the trees, and only then will she turn and head back towards her camp and her friends. 

And in a week they’ll see each other again. 

* * *

His homecoming goes more or less how Bellamy had expected it would. 

After hours of trekking through woods and across coarse meadowland, the trees begin to thin ever-so-slightly, the first wooden buildings eventually coming into view. He'd purposely avoided other Trikru settlements, determined to get back home without further delay. His village is a welcome sight after such a long journey. 

Artigas is the first to notice him, his eyes blown wide with shock and disbelief. Bellamy figures he must really be a man back from the dead at this point. 

“You're alive,” the younger boy chokes out, practically throwing his arms around Bellamy. “How the hell are you alive?!”

Bellamy laughs, looking over his friend’s shoulder. More people are approaching now, curious to see what's going on. “It's -- a long story.”

Artigas releases him and wheels round, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the training yard. “We all thought you were… _You know_. She's not been coping well.”

Bellamy nods, thanking Artigas with an affectionate clap on the back before heading off to find his sister. 

He's exhausted by now, but he can't rest until he sees her. People come up to him as he passes through the makeshift streets, uttering greetings of disbelief and joy, like none of them had believed there was even a chance they'd ever see him again. It's all a little much really. 

He hangs back when he reaches the entrance of the training yard. Octavia is in the middle of some sort of sparring match, and from the looks of it she's giving her opponent a brutally hard time. Her face is covered in mourning paint, dirt and blood, but he can't tell whether it's hers or not. His little sister has always been a good fighter, but this -- it's unsettling. 

When she finally sweeps her opponent's legs out from underneath them and drops onto their chest hard with both elbows, it seems that the match is finally over. No one watching cheers though, apparently all a little unsure of Octavia's sudden viciousness. 

“Bellamy--” says a familiar voice to his left, and he glances round to see Lincoln staring at him like he's just seen a ghost. 

Everyone turns to look, and Octavia's gaze finally lands on him. Through all the blood and dirt, her green eyes meet his and he sees the hopeful spark of recognition in them. 

“O,” he says dumbly, walking towards her. 

She meets him halfway, her legs almost buckling when they reach each other. “You came back,” she practically sobs. Bellamy pulls her into his arms and hugs her fiercely. “Oh my God. You're really back.”

“I'm so sorry, O. I never wanted to worry you.”

She leans back, hands braced on his shoulders as she takes in his dishevelled appearance. He knows he probably looks terrible. Octavia appraises him for a moment, staring at him in unbridled wonder. 

Then her eyes narrow, locking in on his face. He doesn't see it coming when she punches him in the arm -- _hard_. 

“Where the fuck have you been, Bell? What happened to you? Fuck, I thought--”

Bellamy swallows.

“Not here,” he tells her quietly, glancing at the audience around them. 

Octavia frowns, looking like she definitely wants to argue, but after a beat she just nods in agreement. “Lincoln -- please can you go get Nyko to come have a look at him? I'm going to help Bell back to his place.”

It's a relief when his sister's arm wraps around his back, allowing him to put his weight on her. He really has missed her. 

Once they're inside his cabin and the door is shut safely behind them, Octavia having told Artigas not to let anybody but Nyko inside, the inquisition begins.

* * *

Three days pass and Bellamy is resigned to yet more rest.

It's frustrating, of course, but Nyko had insisted and his sister had taken it upon herself to enforce their healer’s orders. If Bellamy even dared to try and leave his cabin she'd be on him like a rabid dog -- he'd found that out quickly. 

Octavia was a little pissed off with him anyway, to say the least. Maybe acting as warden was her way of venting her own annoyance with him. 

When he'd told her about where he'd been and who'd he'd been with for the past two weeks, Octavia had reacted as though he'd been tortured and held prisoner the entire time. She just wouldn't accept that Clarke had only been trying to help him, and he could hardly blame her. 

He would've said exactly the same about anyone from Skaikru before all this happened, before he got to know Clarke. 

But each time he'd tried to reassure Octavia, she'd just gotten angrier with him, especially when he apparently had the audacity to ask that she tell no one. By the time Lincoln had finally arrived with Nyko behind him, the pair of siblings were both seething with frustration. 

So, all things considered, when there's a knock on his door Bellamy knows there's really only one person it could be. There's no-one else Octavia would even dare to try to stop coming to see him. 

He's been expecting Indra to come by sooner or later anyway.

“Bellamy,” she greets, taking a seat in the chair beside his hearth. “I'm pleased to see you're getting your strength back.”

“So am I,” he tells her. 

“Nyko says you were very lucky to make it home in such good shape,” Indra pauses, appraising him. “So I suppose you're well enough for us to have this conversation now. Your disappearance -- everyone believed you were dead, Bellamy. Azgeda even took credit for it. The coalition we've worked so hard to build has been on the brink of falling apart.” 

He grits his teeth, nodding. “I was worried that might be the case.”

“You're my second, Bellamy. What did you think would happen? That the Commander would let your supposed murderers get away without any repercussions?” Indra sighs, trying to get a hold on her emotions. She lost her son a few years back on the battlefield, and she's always been fond of Octavia and him. They're as good as family, really. Bellamy hates that his disappearance must've hurt her. 

“Things have been fraught in Polis. The Skaikru leader is there right now, entertaining an alliance with Lexa,” Indra continues to explain. “She thought that having them on our side would make Azgeda back down from the threats they've been making--”

“What threats?”

“To put their own Nightblood in Lexa’s place. To break from the Coalition and pick off other clans as they see fit.”

“So that's what she wants Skaikru for. Their protection,” Bellamy surmises grimly.

“To act as a deterrent too. Lexa wants a full-blown war with Azgeda no more than I do.”

“So what now?”

Indra considers him for a moment, then shrugs. “I'm sure she'll request your presence soon, to hear your account of things. Be prepared for her to send for you. She'll have questions, just like the rest of us.”

“I understand.”

“You haven't said yet who it was that helped you? Was it Skaikru?” The older woman asks in a pointed way, her dark eyes searching his face for any sign of dishonesty.

Bellamy suppresses the urge to squirm. He's loyal to Indra, always will be, but he knows that she won't exactly be pleased to hear that her assumption is correct. 

It's been law since before he was born that anyone from the sky is to be killed on sight. A law, amongst so many others, that Bellamy swore to uphold when he became Indra’s second. 

His mind immediately goes to Clarke, but it's not like he's really stopped thinking of her at all since coming home. He wonders what she'd say if their places were reversed, if it was her mother asking these questions. Somehow, without a doubt, he knows that she'd do whatever she could to protect him. 

“I don't know,” Bellamy answers carefully. “A healer helped me, but I didn't see or speak to them much. I don't know what clan they were from -- they acted alone. They just found me in the woods and saved me.”

“Well, whatever the circumstances, they did a good job,” Indra begrudgingly admits. “There's another matter I also have to discuss with you. You’ve been my second for four years now, Bellamy. When we thought you were dead, your sister was all but ready to take your place to honour you.”

“So I'm no longer your second then?” Bellamy presses, not entirely sure how to feel about that. 

His sister would make a good replacement, of course -- she's always worked just as hard as him in training over the years -- but he'd never really considered a future where he wouldn't serve Indra and Trikru. 

“I didn't say that. But you need to think about what you want now that you're back. I need to know that you're still committed.” 

He doesn't really know what to say; he's not sure what it is he wants anymore. “Octavia would make a great second to you. I trust you'll make the right decision either way, Indra.”

“Think on it. We'll speak about this again before you go to Polis.”

Bellamy nods automatically. 

Indra stands, making a move to leave now that the conversation is apparently over with. She gives him one last look up and down, like she too can't quite believe he's really home. 

Once he's alone, Bellamy falls back against his pillow with a deep sigh. 

He hates lying, it goes against his nature really. He was raised to be honest, to never put anything before his clan. It's the sort of loyalty that's instilled bone deep.

But Bellamy can only imagine how different that conversation would've gone if he'd told the truth about Clarke.

Protecting her just makes sense. 

* * *

Logically, Clarke knows that seven days is really no time at all. Not in the grand scheme of things, not when she's already spent close to eighteen years of her life in space and almost twelve months walking around on earth. She knows that logically she shouldn't miss Bellamy this much already. 

But the week that follows seems to drag on and on, the days passing slowly and nights even slower. 

She throws herself into her work in the Med Unit with newfound determination, eager to keep herself busy. When she's not working, she's with Wells and Raven and the rest of their ragtag group of delinquents, planning and scheming every chance they get. There's so much to do if they want to make leaving a reality before winter sets in. Quite honestly, she's pretty relieved that she's not the one in charge of all this. 

She spends more time with Murphy too, which is maybe the strangest side effect of the past few weeks. He's not all that bad, really -- a little rough around the edges and too sarcastic for his own good, but she likes him. He doesn't ask questions about Bellamy like the others do, doesn't probe her for answers that she can't give them. 

Some nights she lies awake, a myriad of worst case scenarios running through her head when she has no other distraction. 

She imagines Bellamy collapsing in the woods, all alone and dying, as soon as he was out of her sight. Or maybe he gets attacked again by another group of Azgeda warriors and this time they finish the job. Maybe he even makes it back to his village, only to be vilified and punished as soon as he tells them that a stupid Skaikru girl helped him. 

When a week finally passes, she's out of camp and making her way to the river before the sun is even fully risen. She'd had to swap shifts with someone to swing the whole day off, but that's the least of her cares right now. She won't even allow herself to worry for a second about the possibility of being caught. 

It's not like she expects Bellamy to be there, already waiting for her. She knows it's a long hike from his home, that most likely she won't see him for another few hours yet. But she's too anxious to wait around back at camp, too excited to see him again to stay put a second longer. 

When she reaches the banks of the river, she looks around for the best vantage point and decides to set up on the lower branches of an oak tree. She's brought her sketchpad to keep her occupied while she waits, as well as her daily rations to snack on in the meantime. 

For a long time, it seems like her only company are the birds flitting between the treetops above her. She sees no one, only hears the gurgle of the river and the occasional animal scurrying about on the forest floor below. It's -- peaceful, almost. 

But when her watch reads that it's now well past midday, Clarke's stomach starts to sink. There's a horrible voice in the back of her head telling her that he's not coming after all. 

She tries to push it away, and that's when she hears movement through the trees, too loud to be a small animal. She strains her neck, trying to look for the culprit. 

A head of dark curls comes into view between the pines and she feels her lips curve into a smile at the familiar sight. 

As she climbs down from the tree, she tries not to pay too much attention to the way her stomach is suddenly doing somersaults.

And when he finally reaches her and pulls her in for a hug straightaway, she can't quite name the warmth that spreads through her like she's kindling, but she knows that _this_ is why she risked coming to see him again.

_T_ _his_ is why she's missed him. 


End file.
